


The History of a Mask

by Arghnon



Series: IDOLiSH7 Fantasy Bounty Hunter AU [4]
Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Gen, Illustrated Fic, Magic, Masks, Part 3 spoilers, magical bounty hunter au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 18:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21432949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arghnon/pseuds/Arghnon
Summary: MaskA magical tool that enhances one's shifting magic. An individual's mask is often tailored to that individual's magic which is reflected in the markings of the mask. Masks can be interchanged but using another's will not be as beneficial. A mask is not a requirement for shifting.(Yamato's life and his relationship with masks)
Series: IDOLiSH7 Fantasy Bounty Hunter AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1325633
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	The History of a Mask

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Gen (noticemegenpai) for the lovely artwork. I commissioned the illustrations for this fic! Please look at how cute baby Yamato is!!!!!!! 
> 
> She finished this long ago I just took too long to put it up lol 
> 
> It's short but I hope the artwork makes up for it!

  
  


Yamato stands on his tip toes to see over the table where all the masks lay. Wide green eyes are sparkling with curiosity. The masks come in white or black, swirls of colour embedded into the surface. They were pretty and he likes to follow the lines that played on each one. Though truly what he loves the most about the masks is their magic.

“Yamato, get the door please!”

“Yes, mama!” He runs to the door and pulls it open, meeting a small crowd of strangers.

“Look at you, you've grown so much!” a lady says. She picks up the giggling boy into her arms, tucking him against her side.

She reaches her hand to her face and plucks off the mask that materializes against her fingertips. Her entire figure shimmers like heat in the air. Yamato can feel the magic flow through her. Her magical trace brushes against his skin, soft as flower petals. 

The face underneath is entirely different to the one that greeted him but the boy in her arms is unfazed. He's seen it all before. In fact, he looks fascinated, eyeing the mask in her hand.

“Would you like to try, my dear?” she coos. Yamato is about to respond, already nodding eagerly, but is cut off by a stern voice.

“He's too young to be playing with such magic.”

“You're no fun, are you? I'm sure he would be very good at it. He is your son after all,” She laughs when she looks down to see the boy pouting at his father, “Oh, look at his cute face. He is far too adorable. I could eat him up!” She pinches at the boy's cheeks who squeaks in laughter and tries to wriggle away. 

He's still giggling as his father takes him into his own arms. He pushes his son's hair out of his face, his own expression soft and fond.

“Now, Yamato, go help your mother with the tea and food. Papa has to go for his meeting. Be good, okay?”

“Yes, papa!”

“Good boy,” with a kiss to his forehead, he puts his son down, watching him run away to the back of the house.

  
  


Yamato stares at the table, the surface of it hidden underneath piles of masks. He no longer needs to stand on his tiptoes to reach it. He kind of wishes he did. Then he could choose not to see this sight. 

They disgust him. Like the people that wear them. They're revolting. All they do is hide people and secrets like dirt under the rug. Using each other for their own selfish means and disguising it as love and kindness. 

A family, they call it. Hah. If this is what a family is, he’d rather not be a part of it. 

He doesn't respond when they ruffle his hair and tell him how handsome he's grown. He stiffens when they mention how much he looks like his father. He wishes he didn't. Wishes his face was different, his name was different, wishes he was something other than a dirty little secret hidden in a closet.

He helps with the tea because his mother is getting old and more and more people come everyday. He ignores conversation. Ignores everyone.

He leaves the house through the back to a part time job. He will come back and help clean up the mess they will leave behind. He will throw the presents they push onto him into the trash.

He wants none of it.

  
  


Banri left a white mask on the table for him. It's plain. A clean slate. He stares at it.

He can still turn back and refuse the job. Nagi can do it, he's sure. He may be a weird guy but he clearly knows how to lie. Or Sougo. His magical pool is ridiculously large. Iori, even, could probably pull it off. He will be stiff but it's an easy enough job.

Though it was him that was specifically requested, no doubt because of his old man.

The thought gets bile rising in his throat. It reminds him of his home, overrun by liars. He remembers watching people everyday swarm the house, the same masks in their hands.

He thinks of seeing his father hold another woman's hand, lovingly and adoringly, as he says without a twitch on his face how he wishes they could have a child. How unfortunate that fate has not smiled on them. All as his own son watches from behind the garden fence.

But he also remembers Mitsuki. His shining bright face as he asks of him to give it his all. He thinks of everyone working themselves to the bone for their dream. For each other.

So he slips on the mask, green lines carving themselves into the surface. He feels the magic shudder through him as his image changes. If he looks in the mirror, he knows instead of Nikaidou Yamato he will see the face of an innocent substitute teacher. 

He hates it. But it's the least he could do.

  
  


The table now has seven masks. Black, green, orange, blue, purple, yellow and red. 

They've all learnt how to shift. With bigger and deeper jobs, it became safer to disguise themselves. Especially now that their reputation precedes them. 

Tamaki is really bad, only really changing his hair and face slightly, but he has learnt to keep his mouth shut when shifting, making it easier to blend in. Sougo is decent but not particularly great. Riku and Iori too, though neither of them have quite the range of images, sticking to changing facial features, hair and skin tone. 

Mitsuki and Nagi are the best of the six of them despite Mitsuki's limited and Nagi's inflexible magic. They've been doing it beside him for longer than the others. He almost cried tears of pride when Mitsuki shifted to someone taller than 170cm. 

Yamato doesn't really need his mask anymore but it's useful to have when doing hallucinations. Conserving his energy and concentration for larger magical tasks just as Yuki taught him. 

It's his, this magic and this mask. It doesn't tie him to the lying faces that haunt his childhood as he thought it would. The masks are no longer tainted with the heavy clouds of the past. Only the childish fascination he once felt now pushes through, settling neatly next to the memories of Ainana's adventures. 

It's a craft that he is honing for his members, his friends, and the people they serve.

“Yamato-san, it's time!”

“Coming.”

He picks up his mask, letting his fingers follow the grooves of the green lines, and slips it on. 

Most importantly, now he wears this mask for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on twitter @marsaysays  
check out my art and other fic @marshyartsy


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